


To Create It Herself

by BlossomsintheMist



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Casual Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femdom, Friends With Benefits, Male-Female Friendship, Pegging, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Rating: NC17, Sex Toys, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Natasha Romanova pegged guys in the Marvel universe--enjoy.  616.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Create It Herself

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Anais Nin.

“Where do you want me?” Clint asks, and he’s clearly trying for cocky and insouciant, but he doesn’t quite get there, there is an uncertainty in his voice, a hitch in his breathing.  “Is this good?  I still can’t believe you want me like this.”

Natasha shifts back, pulling the dildo free of his body, and he groans, a hot flush rising up from his neck into his cheeks, down over his chest.  She raises her eyebrows at him, even as he looks up at her from where he’s braced on his hands and knees.  “And here I thought you liked the idea,” she said, tracing a hand up his back to drape her arm about his neck, trace her fingers down over his throat.  “We don’t have to continue.”

That flush deepens.  “No,” he says.  “No, I don’t want to stop.  I just … well, y’know, I’m not used to taking it up the ass.”

She can’t help but smile at his intentional crudity, and she knows he means her to.  “But you’re enjoying it,” she says, certain of it, and he looks down, huffs out his breath.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says.  “But don’t go spreading it around, okay?”

——-

He lets his breath out, rests his head on his arms, and then Natasha twists her fingers, working them deeper into him, and he feels his breath stuttering in his throat, leaving his lips in a low moan.  That feels so good, he’s a little surprised by it.  She’s got him bent over, two—no, three fingers into him now, and she brushes a soft kiss along his neck and he gasps.  She bites him and he makes a sound, his back arches.  “So you like it like that, Stark,” she says, softly, nips at his ear.

“I like it like anything, really,” he tells her, trying to play it off, but she twists her fingers, pushes him down against the bed with one hand on his shoulder, and he lands with an oof, breath half-knocked out of him, and feels desire sparking hot and dizzy through his body.  She splays out her fingers, spreading them, twisting and rotating, and he’s almost laid out flat before he gets his knees under him, pushes up and back.  She laughs a little, smacks his ass.  It stings.  “Getting a little high-handed?” he says, struggling to get the pun out of a throat suddenly tight with desire and heat, and she shoves him down even harder, holding his face pressed into the sheets, swats him again and pulls her fingers out.

“You talk too much,” she says.

“It’s my curse,” he agrees, into the pillows.  “At least I’m pretty.”

“Not bad,” she says, and that’s her lips on the small of his back, Jesus, is he shaking?  “Not bad at all, Stark.”  Her hand fists in his hair, and that—she’s sliding into him, is that a dildo, oh,  _God_ , she’s going to fuck him.  His dick throbs eagerly at the thought.

“Are you insulting me?” he manages to get out, before the words are lost on a harsh thrust in, God, that’s amazing.  He chokes out a little cry, drops his face into the pillow to hide the rest of it.

She tugs on his hair a little more and sets up a rhythm, in and out.  “You’re very pretty like this, Tony,” she says, and tousles his hair before she twists her hand in it, yanks it again.  And, you know, he knows very well that he is, so he grins and closes his eyes and enjoys the way she fucks him, hard and relentless.

——-

She doesn’t have Matt’s ability to hear heartbeats or his almost supernatural awareness of another’s body through touch and hearing and smell—but there are a thousand other things, little twitches, ticks and tells that let her know that he’s nervous, tense.  His hand is clenched tight in a fist, shoved down into the mattress like he’s punching something, as if that can steady him, his legs set like he’s in the middle of a fight despite the way he has them spread, his other hand wrapped around his own thigh, holding himself open for her.  Red hair falls forward into his eyes, over the pillow.  She shifts, leans forward over him, presses her mouth to the back of his neck, and he shudders, then sighs.  “Relax,” she says, pressing her thigh against the back of his, working further into him until her hips are flush against his rear and he is gasping, his shoulders working, shifting down against the bed and squirming.  “Be still,” she tells him, and kisses the freckles on his shoulder.

“I’m trying,” he gasps, and he squeezes his eyes shut.  She rolls her hips, lazily, and his breath catches, his shoulders hunching forward.  It’s a long moment before he speaks again, and when he does it sounds pushed out of him.  “More,” he mutters, and it sounds both frustrated and almost sullen, “’Tasha, please.”

She smiles and bites lightly at the spot between his shoulder blades that makes him gasp and arch, squirming under her.  “I’m happy to oblige,” she tells him, and thrusts into him with more force, feeling his body shudder and begin to give through the muscles under her thighs, under her hands.  He gasps again, and sighs, and his eyes flutter closed.

——-

“You’re very good at this,” Steve tells her, sincerely, his eyes very blue and genuine as he looks up at her, and he sounds like he does on the battlefield, all trust and steady earnestness.  “Not that I think you do this sort of thing all the time, but I knew you’d know what to do.”

She doesn’t know whether to be amused or insulted, but she thinks she feels more touched than anything, and it surprises her.  He’s trusting her with this, after all.  And she knows Steve, knows he means it as a compliment, like he would if he gave her a compliment on her efficiency on the field.  The smile that curves her lips almost surprises her, too.  “I have a wide range of skills,” she says.

The feeling of her fingers inside him is obviously a surprise, and his eyes widen, his lips part and his cheeks flush, but he takes it well, gasps and grins when she finds his prostate, and he’s so very flexible, rocking back when she goes to push into him, holding his legs up and open with his hands under his knees.  The pressure and friction is so good against her that she lets herself gasp a little, and he smiles at that, lets one leg down to brace his foot against the bed and spreads his legs apart a little wider, opening himself up for her more.  “You can go a little harder,” he says.  “Give it to me.”

And that’s a surprise, too, in a way, but in a way it’s not, because that’s Steve, isn’t it?  She grins at him, because that’s what she wants to hear, and reaches down to brace herself on his chest.  “My pleasure, Captain,” she tells him, and he grins at her, almost shy.

“Thank you,” he says, all sincerity, and arches up into her next thrust with a gasp.

——

“Are you all right, James?” he realizes she’s asking, hand wrapped around the back of his neck, shaking him a little, and he realizes a moment later that he’s stopped talking, spaced out somehow even while he’s staring at her face, into her eyes.  He feels his face start to heat.

“Fine,” he mutters.  “I—sorry, Nat.”  The cock is so cool and hard inside him, even though she slicked it up, warmed it up with her hand first, and it feels so good, but it’s a little overwhelming, a little intense, and very—present.  He can’t get away from it, or from the thought that it’s Natasha fucking him.  His hand fumbles against the bed, the metal one, he doesn’t want to hold onto her with that when he’s overwhelmed like this—and his chest feels tight.

She makes a face at him, cards her hand lightly through his hair, and then she’s pushing him back down against the bed and he gasps as the cock shifts inside him.  This is—is this what it feels like for her?  He reaches out for her, and she takes his hand, letting him lacing their fingers.  “All right, James?” she says again.

“Yes,” he manages this time.  “This is …”

She swivels her hips and he gasps, seeing stars for a moment. 

“So good,” he finally manages.  “So good, Natasha, I—”

She smiles at him. “Shush,” she says, and leans down to kiss him.  He pushes up to meet her, lets the movement work her deeper, and finds himself gasping again, into her mouth, breathless and dizzy.  She kisses him, lets it go deep and warm, curls her hand into his hair.  After a moment she gives another snap of her hips, a hard thrust into him, and his breath leaves him in a rush.  Her other hand curls around his cock a moment later, warm and clever, and he cries out, half-embarrassed by the sound.  She just kisses him again, her hand so warm in his hair, her thumb tucked in against his pulse, just under his ear, and he’s all filled up with her—there’s no room for anything, anything else.


End file.
